Powerless
by 1Scarylady
Summary: For the DA Asunder Creative Writing Challenge: In Tevinter high society, if one is not a mage, then one is a liability, at the mercy of predatory Magisters and their… pets. At fifteen, Livia Laurentius has demonstrated not a single spark of magic.


**__AN: Since posting this I've heard the news: I made the top five finalists! Considering that there were 400+ entries, I'm dead chuffed! Karen xxx__**

_-oOo-_

"How was it?"

He'd barely made it through the door. That, and the way his wife was hovering in the entrance hall waiting for him, demonstrated the depth of her anxiety.

Lucretius didn't answer immediately, instead allowing one of the house slaves to take his outer robe and staff under the stern eye of the major-domo. The slave was relatively new, and handled the carved hardwood gingerly, as though it might twist in his hands and bite him. Only when his outer garments had been carefully placed within the magical protection of the cabinet which stood inside the door, did he turn to where Cornelia was fidgeting with nerves.

"It was everything one would expect from a meeting at the Argent Spire." He kept his tone light in the presence of the servants. Another slave leapt to hold the door for them and Lucretius courteously invited Cornelia to precede him into the sitting room. "Naturally, there was the usual jockeying for position. Aurelia Sulla is purported to be the Divine's latest favourite, having discovered a novel way to bind spirits, Flavius Valimna has fallen victim to his brother's schemes – long overdue if you ask me, as the man is a fool – and that overblown idiot Danarius was flaunting his new bodyguard… as though lyrium tattoos are _original_." Lucretius dropped into his favourite chair and accepted a goblet of wine from the assiduous slave, muttering a purification spell with the ease of long practice before taking a drink.

Cornelia shook her head impatiently at the slave, waving away the offer of refreshment. "And Petronius? Drusilla? Were they present? Did they-?"

The implied question hung in the air. Lucretius glanced at the attentive slave and answered with care. "They were present, yes. They asked after the welfare of our daughters, and said that their son, Paulus, had returned home and was keen to meet his affianced bride."

After a moment of pregnant silence, Cornelia rounded on the slave, exclaiming sharply, "That will be all." Once the door closed behind him she sunk onto a brocade couch, her hands scrunched tight in the silk of her skirts.

"Livvy has had her first menses."

The bald statement made Lucretius' stomach clench. "I see." It was as he'd feared. Cornelia had held on to hope, but Livia was now fifteen; womanhood could not have been far away.

"Lucretius," The faintly desperate note in his wife's voice was not lost on him, "she can still manifest magic; it's not too late. I've heard of other cases, rare talents that blossom late, very late."

It was not the first time they'd had this conversation. Lucretius rubbed his face, wearied to the bone by the same words, the same thoughts. "I'm sorry, my dear. She'll have to go to Orlais." He couldn't see any other way now; Livia had no future in Minrathous. "I've written a letter to the Chevalier de Laurence asking him to take her into his family. They will take her to Court; seek a mundane marriage for her." The noble family of Laurence would be happy to assist – and be owed a favour by – their cousins in Tevinter, the powerful Magister family of Laurentius. "Petronius may affiance his son to little Claudia instead; the marriage will be delayed for a year or two until she is a woman, but at least there is no doubt that she has magic."

It would be better this way. Plenty of people in Tevinter did not have magic; among commoners it was not considered unusual at all, but the Magister families bred for it, expected it, and required it. Even a weak talent for magic was usually enough to ensure that certain spells could be instilled by a good teacher, giving the student the ability to defend themselves against the influence of other Magisters and their… pets. A wife or husband without magic was a liability, a weakness, to be protected from influence at all times.

No-one wanted that. No-one who _mattered_ wanted that.

"There's still a chance." Cornelia's insistence surprised him; although fond of her daughters, she was a strong woman, hard-headed and powerful in her magic. It seemed to Lucretius that, in this, her love for her eldest child was blinding her to reality. "My research may have paid off, finally. I stumbled across some information in a set of Magister Talerio's memoirs. It states that the standard ritual used to enhance a mage's power, so that they can enter the Fade, may be adapted with the addition of blood to trigger magic in the young. If there is any latent power within an individual, any at all, then the ritual will draw it out."

"Blood magic…" It was dangerous, very dangerous, and Lucretius hesitated to expose Livvy in such a way. Blood magic was commonplace enough. Any Magister who wished to hold on to life and power learnt it - one would be a fool not to - but it was unusual for a child to be brought into contact with it so soon. A new mage was too vulnerable; the forces could tear her mind apart. With the addition of an enhancement ritual, the risk was even greater. "Are you sure you want to put our daughter at such risk? We'd need a containment field, to ensure that no-one else is harmed by any magic Livvy manifests, but there won't be any way to protect her from herself."

Cornelia's mouth set in a resolute line. "If we don't try this, we'll lose her entirely. In Orlais she'll be taught a load of nonsense about the dangers of magic, about us and our entire way of life. I don't want that for my daughter," her eyes pleaded with him, "for _our_ daughter. Please, Luc, I beg you, help me to save Livia from this exile."

Not only would it save Livvy from leaving Tevinter and living in a foreign land, it would also save their family, the illustrious line of Laurentius, from the stigma of a child of common blood. Six generations of mages and never a mundane amongst them.

It had to be worth a try.

_-oOo-_

"Give that back!" Livvy lunged for her younger sister, just as Claudia danced out of reach behind a table.

"Why? It's no use to you, is it?" Claudia kept her hand stretched out behind her, the necklace sparkling between her fingers, as Livia glared at her impotently.

"I'm the eldest. Grandmama's jewellery is _mine, _not_ yours_." The barb cut deep, however; the necklace was dead, cold metal to Livvy, the song of its mana cut off from her senses. She considered jumping over the table and grappling the little pest, but the impish smile on her younger sister's round face - and the spark of magic at her fingertips - warned against it. Last time she'd tried violence, Claude had paralysed her and bundled her in a cupboard. Being beaten by a younger sibling was downright _embarrassing_.

Being without magic was humiliating.

Being of marriageable age and unwanted was worse.

Sometimes Livvy wondered if Orlais would be _so _terrible, compared to this.

"Anyway," she continued, stoutly, "Papa says he's going to fix things. There's a way to give me magic, just like you. So – _ppthhhp!_" Livvy blew a rude raspberry in Claudia's direction but the little monster remained unfazed.

"I heard one of the tutors say that if it goes wrong you'll _explode_, just like the frogs I practice Living Bomb on." The notion of a messily detonated older sister appeared entirely satisfactory to Claudia. Livvy's fingers twitched to slap her. "There'll be bits of you _everywhere_."

Livia's turmoil of fear, fury and frustration mingled in a toxic cocktail and strangled any concerns about humiliating defeat.

"Give that BACK!" She hurtled across the table and tackled her squealing sister.

_-oOo-_

The training room at the Argent Spire was large, cold and empty, the echo of their footfalls bouncing back at them from the tiled walls. Livvy stepped a little closer to her mother, comforted by her presence. Papa seemed remote; the inscrutable mask of a Magister firmly in place, the father she loved hidden from sight.

"Stand here, Livia." Papa pointed to a spot directly beside the font, a huge, intricately carved marble goblet which stood as high as Papa's elbow.

Her stomach was filled with writhing snakes and her legs trembled when she tried to move. The reassuring press of Mama's hand on her back gave her the impetus for the first hesitant step.

"Don't worry, darling. Just do exactly as Papa asks."

The reassuring words were diminished by the strain in her mother's voice, but what else was there to do? Leave her home, her family, and go to Orlais? Or do as she was told? "_You'll explode… like the frogs_…" She'd hugged a surprised Claudia this morning before leaving and felt, just for a moment, the slight press of returned affection.

To have magic. To be normal, like Claude. To be able to sense the prepared lyrium Papa was carefully pouring from the ewer to the font, to hear its song and walk the Fade. Hope impelled Livia the rest of the way across the mosaic floor to stand at her Father's side. She stared into the impossibly blue liquid, while he retreated outside the circle of lyrium-imbued metal that was embedded in the pattern of floor tiles.

_Father is one of the finest Magisters in Tevinter. He won't let me come to harm_.

"You know how this works, Livvy, we've discussed it at length." Papa's voice was deep and steady; if he was worried about the outcome, then it didn't show. "I can cast spells into the training circle, but any magic you manifest will be contained by it. Do your best to relax, to let the lyrium work through you. Stay close to the font. Breathe deeply and regularly. Don't be alarmed by anything you feel welling up within you; trust me, the training circle can withstand anything you throw at it."

His confidence was contagious; Livvy took a deep breath and nodded, a little of the tension leaving her body. "I'm ready."

"We love you, darling." Mother's voice came from behind her, the opposite side of the circle from Papa. They had elected to do the ritual alone, to keep this matter in the family. "Be a brave girl."

Their voices lifted in chant, Mother's alto weaving with Papa's baritone rumble.

It was begun.

_-oOo-_

At first she felt nothing. The cadence of their voices rose and fell and the build up of magic was visible in the occasional _crackle_ and _zip_ over the lines of the circle, a swell in the blue depths of the lyrium. There was no equivalent response in Livvy, though; no crackle of magic over her skin, no ripple in her mind. She leant over the font, breathing deeply of the fumes that rose from the azure liquid, seeking the connection within herself, as she'd been taught, looking for the thread of power, the doorway to the Fade.

Nothing.

Not so much as a hint.

There was more magic building between Papa's hands, woven strands of power formed from their combined mana, raw energy that roiled and twisted, seeking to escape him. Livvy could see the strain on his face as he sought to compel it into a ball of force, and - for the first time – she _felt_ it, a slight tug in her solar plexus, a queasy, uneasy feeling; an acknowledgement of something foreign, something alien and unknown.

She felt a momentary flare of hope, but there was no corresponding surge of force within her. There was just that strange, unsettled feeling, the knowledge that magic was taking place, matching what was visible to the naked eye. The ball between Papa's hands was dense, solid force that bent the space around it, distorting the image of her father through its transparent field of energy.

The chant altered, harsh syllables flowing from Papa's mouth while Mother held the original phrase. Gashes appeared in his palms and in moments the ball of force became opaque, red as rubies, suffused with his blood. The lyrium in the font bubbled and then _reared_ up in a wave, a wall of liquid so sudden and unexpected that Livvy took an involuntary step back.

She caught a glimpse of Papa's face, glowing and distorted behind the crimson sphere. She thought she saw worry in his eyes. "_You'll explode… like the frogs_…" The sick feeling was stronger now; her entire being recoiling from the magic, the lyrium hanging in the air like oily droplets of dew on a fragile fern making her dizzy. She wanted to run, to get away. _Wrong, wrong, it's all wrong_. Livvy's heart sang a song of rejection and she poised on the verge of flight.

In that moment, her father flung the ball of blood-infused power at her.

Livia never knew, afterwards, exactly what happened. It took years of hard training to reproduce even a fraction of the force she conjured that day. Years of training and a great deal of lyrium. She thought she screamed "No!" as the foul orb screamed towards her, but she may not have made a sound. The power came up from the ground and down through her head. It suffused her entirely, burning through her veins like liquid silver and exploded out with such compelling strength that she crumpled in its wake. Livvy fell to the floor, the mosaic tiles cutting into her hands. She was dimly aware of a powerful ripple of concentric force expanding out.

The glow of the training circle's protection winked out and the strange energy continued on. Livvy watched in horror as the wave swamped Papa, knocking him from his feet. Behind her was a wail, as it passed over her mother.

_Dear Maker, what have I done_?

_-oOo-_

They came for her.

She didn't understand at first. She was wrung out by her experiences, her mind so saturated that she could only stare dully when Papa picked himself from the floor, white-faced. Mother was sobbing, a thin wretched sound of grief.

Her father said no word, and looked at her only once, his eyes remote and distant. Then he was gone, the training room door banging hollowly behind him. He never returned.

They came for her. Metal-shod feet clicked across the tiled floor to where she huddled, gauntleted hands reached down to pull her to her feet. They were gentle, considerate of where sharp metal might pinch her exposed skin.

Tears slid down Livvy's face, shock making her shiver uncontrollably in their cold grasp. "I hurt Papa… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I didn't know…"

"Don't worry; we'll teach you to use your gifts safely. You belong with us now." The Templar's voice was hollow, distorted by his helmet. He removed it, revealing a bearded face with bright blue eyes, and grinned at her in a comradely manner. "Welcome to the Order, sister."

_-oOo-_


End file.
